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EASTMAN TIMES. jV Jiel Country Jkiper. kv;uy Thursday morning, . -UY-- H. S. BURT 02\r. TIRIHB OF SUISaCIUPTION s <>no copy, ono year ®2 00 Ono <opy, nix montlm 1 00 'J on copieo, in club, ono voar, ca''li 1.50 Singl* copies acta TO THE IVY. I,mo tenant of the waHteri ppot Where noftened desolation smiles ; Where weeds rank o’er graves forgot, And ruin sighs through gras -grown aisles! Still clinging round some withered trunk. Or mouldering tenement of age; Or where the riven wall has sunk Beneath destruction’s leagueriug rage. Child of decay! no blushing flower, No cup of treasured sweets is thine, To breathe in beauty’s fragrant bower, < >r charm where statelier rivals shine ; The column of the desert place, The warrior’s cross, tbo nameless stone, K vi ive thy clasping boughs’embrace, Aud show thy clustering wreaths alone! The violet and the queen-’ike rose, Frail minions of a passing day, Brief as the faith which falsehood shows ! But bloom while lasts their worshipped iay ; To me thy mourful leaf excels The fairest buds whose petals fling Their odors where the summer dwells Or gem the verdant robes of spring. Yet type of truth ! when fortune wanes; And grief, tiiat haunts the mouldering tomb; And love, that, strong as death, sustains The whirlwind’s shock aud tempest's gloom ; Tlmii still, amidst the howling blast, When all is drear, art smiling on ; I'uehanged, unshrinking to the last, And green when even hope is gone ! THE MAN OF FORTY-FIVE. The discovery of a gray hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning -first fallen flake of the coining snows of age—is a disagreeable thing. Ho is the intimation from your old friend and comrade that his eidest, daughter is about to bo married. Ho are flying twinges of gout, shortness of breath on the hillside, the fact that even tho moderate use of your friend’s wines at dinner upsets you. These things aro disagreeable because they tell you that you are no longer young— that you have passed through youth, are now in middle age, and faring on ward to tho shadows in which, some where, a grave is bid. Thirty is the ago of the gods—aud the first gray hair informs you that you iU’e at least ten on twelve years older than that. Apollo is never middle aged, but you are. Olympus lies seve ral years behind you. You have lived for more than half your natural term; and you know road which lies be fore you is very different from that which lies be! ind. You liavo yourself changed. Iti tho present man of forty live you can barely recognize the boy of nineteen that once was. Hope sang on the sunny slope of life’s hill as you ascended ; she is busily singing tho old song in the ears of anew generation— but you have passed out of tho reach of her voice. You have tried your strength; you have learned precisely what you can do ; you have thrown the -hammer so oftgn that you know to au inch how far you ran throw it—at least you are a great fool if you do not. The world, too, has been looking on and has made up her mind about you. She has ap prised and valued you as au auctioneer apprises and values au estate or the fur niture of a house. “Once you served Prince Florizol aud wore three pile, but tho brave days of campaigning are over. What to you aro canzonets and love-songs? The mighty nnsu'on is vapid and second-hand. Cupid will never more flutter rosilyover your head; at most lie will only flutter in an unin spired fashion above the head of yonr daughter-in-law. Yon have sailed round the world, seen all its wonders, and come home again, and must adorn your dwelling as best yon can with the rare things you have picked up 'on the way. At life’s table you have taste 1 of every dish except the covered one, and of that you will have your share by-iyid-by. The road over which you are fated to march is more than half accomplished, and at every onward stage the scenery is certain to become more somber, and in due time the twilight will fall. To you, on your onward journey, there will be little to astonish, little to delight. Tho interpreter’s house is behind where you first read the poets ; so is also the house beautiful with the three damsels whore you first learned to love. As you pass onward you are attended by your henchman, Memory, who may be either the cheerfulest, or gloomiest of com panions. You have come up out of the sweet smelling valley-flowers ; you are now on the broken granite, seamed and wrinkled, with dried up water-courses ; and before you, striking you full in the face, is the broad disk of the solitary setting sun. The man of forty-five or thereby is compelled to own, if he sits down to think about it, that existence is very different from what it was twenty years previously. His life is more than half spent to begin with. He is like one who has spent seven hundred and fifty pounds of his original patrimony of a thousand. Then from his life there has departed that “ wild freshness of morn ing” which Tom Moore sang about. Iu his onward journey he is not likely tp encounter anything absolutely new. lie has already conjugated every tense of the verb To He. He has been in love twice or thrice. He has been mar ried—only ouce, let us trust. In all probability lie is the father of a fine family of children ; ho has been ill, and he has recovered ; he has experienced triumph and failure; ho has known what it is to have money, in his purse, and what it is to want money in his purse. Sometimes he has been a debtor, sometimes he has been a creditor, ne has stood by the brink of half a dozen graves, and heard the clod falling on the coffin-lid. All this ho has experi enced ; the only new thing before him is death, aud even to that he has at va rious times approximated. Life has lost most of its unexpectedness, its zest, its novelty, and become like a worn shoe or a thread-bare doublet, lo him there is no new thing under the sun. Hut then this growing old is a gradual process ; and zest, sparkle and novelty are not essential to happiness, l'lie man who has reached five-and lorty has learned what a pleasue there h in customariuess and use and wont— m having everything around him famil iar > tried, confidential. Life may have become humdrum, but his tastes have become humdrum too. Novelty an- n "}* mm, the intrusion of an unfamil iav object puts him out. A pair of new .y embroidered slippers would be much .' orria mental than the well-worn <iuic!es which lie warming for him be n'.f* ie hhrary fire; but then ho cau g i his feet into them so easily, riov'i' with his old friends—a tlm i'w w ?. nla break the charm of hVWr' airu ] ar aces He loves the ° 1 the fields and the brook Two Dollars Per Annum, VOLUME 11. and the bridge, which he sees every day, and he would not exchange them for Alps aud glaciers. By the time a man lias reached forty five he lies as comfortably in his habits as tlie silk worm in its cocoon. On the whole I take it that middle age is a happier pe riod than youth. Iu the entire circle of the year there are no days so delight ful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, aud the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morn ing and evening—no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a rever ent meekness in the air. The lyrical up-hurst of the lark at such a time would be incongruous. The only sounds suitable to the season are the rusty caw of the homeward-sliding rook—the creaking of the wain return ing empty from the farm yard. There is an “ unrest which men miscall de light,” and of that “ unrest” youth is for the most part composed. From that middle age is free. The setting suns of youth are crimson and gold; the set ting suns of middle age Do take a sober coloring from an eye Tiiat hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality. Youth is the slave of beautiful faces, aud fine eyes, aud silver-sweet voices— they distract, madden, alarm. To mid dle age they are but the gracefullest statues, tho loveliest poems. They de light but burn not. They awake no passion, they heighten no pulse. And the imaginative man of middle age pos sesses after a fashion all tho passionate turbulence, all the keen delights of his earlier days. They are not dead—they are dwelling in the ante-chamber of his memory, awaiting his call; and when they are called they wear au ethereal something which is not their own. The muses are the daughters of memory; youth is tho time to love, but middle age the period at which the best love poetry is written. And middle age too —the early period of it, when a man is master of his instruments and knows what lie can do—is tho best season of intellectual activity. The playful ca pering flames of a newly kindled fire is a pretty sight; but not nearly so effec tive—any housewife will tell you—as when the flames are gone and the whole mass of fuel has become caked into a sober redness that emits a steady glosv. There is nothing in this world which time does not improve. A silver wed ding is better than the voice of the Epithalamium. Aud the most beauti ful face that ever was is made yet more beautiful when there is laid upon it tho reverence of silver hairs. There is a certain, even-handed jus tice in time; and for what ho takes away he gives us something in return, lie robs us of elasticity of limb aud spirit, and iu its place he brings tran quility and repose—the mild autumnal weather of the soul. Tie takes away hone. !>•- oMxraa 113 niAninrr _ Anil the settled, unfluctuating atmosphere of middle-age is no bad exchange for the stormful emotions, the passionate cries aud suspenses of the earlier day. The constitutional melancholy of the mid dle-aged man is a dim background on which the pale flowers of life are brought out in tho teuderest relief. Youth is tho time for action, middle-age for thought. In youth we hurriedly crop the lierbage ; in middle-age, in a shel tered place, we chew the ruminative cud. Iu youth, red-handed, red-ankled, with songs and shoutings, we gather in the grapes ; in middle-age, under our own fig-tree, or iu quiet gossip with a friend, wo drink the wine free of all turbid lees. Youth is a lyrical poet, middle-age a quiet essayist, fond of re counting experiences and of appending a moral to every incident. Iu youth the world is strange and unfamiliar, novel and exciting, everything wears the face and garb of a stranger; in mid dle-age the world is covered over with reminiscence as with a garment—-it is made homely ovith usage, it is made sacred ovith graves. The middle-aged man can go nowhere without treading the mark of his own footstep 3 . And in huddle-age, too—provided the man has been a good and an ordinarily happy one—along with this mental tranquili ty, there comes a corresponding sweet ness of the moral atmosphere. He has seen the good and evil that are in the world, the ups and downs, the almost general desire of tho men and women therein to do the right thing if they could but see how—and he has learned to be uucensorious, humane ; to attrib ute the best motives to every action, and to be chary of imputing a sweeping and cruel blame. He has a quiet smile for the vain-glorious boast; a feeling of respect for shabby-genteel virtues; a pity for tho threard-bare garments proudly worn, and for the napless hat glazed into more than pristine brillian cy from frequent brushing after rain. He would not be satirical for the world. He has no finger of scorn to point at anything under tlie sun. He has a hearty “ Ameu ” for every goo 1 wish, and in the worst cases lie leans to aver diet of not proven. Aud along with this pleasant blaudness and charity, a certain grave, serious humor, “ a smile | and a tear on the lip in the (ye,” is no- ticeable frequently in middle-aged per sons —a phase of humor peculiar to that period of life, as the chrysanthemum to December. Pity lies at the bottom of it, just as pity lies, unsuspected, at the bottom of love. Perhaps this special quality of humor —with its sadness oi tenderness, its mirth with the heart ache, its gayety growing out of deepest seriousness, like a crocus on a child s grave—never approaches more closely the perfection than in some passages of Mr. Hawthorne’s writings—who was a middle-aged man from earliest boyhood. Aud although middle-aged persons have lost the actual possession of youth, yet in virtue of this humor they compre hend it, see all around it, enter imagi natively into every sweet and bitter of it. Thoy wear the key memory at their girdles, and they can open every door in the chamber of youth. And it is also in virtue of this peculiar humor that— Mr. Dickens’ Little Nell to the con*ra ry it is only middle-aged persons who can, either as poets as artists, create for us a child. There is no more beautiful thing on earth than an old mans love for his granddaughter ; more beautiful ( ,ven—from the absence of all suspicion of direct personal bias or interest-—than his love for his own daughter ; and it is only the meditative, sad-hearted, mid dle-aged man who can creep into Lie EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 30, 1874. heart of a child and interpret it, and show forth the new nature to us in the subtle cross lights of contrast and sug gestion. Imaginatively, thus, wrinkles of age become the dimples of infancy. Wordsworth was not a very young man when he held the colloquy with the little maid who insisted in her childish logic that lie was one of seven. Mr. Hawthorne was not a young man when he painted “ Pearl ” by the side of the brook in tho forest; and he wa* middle aged and more when he drew “ Punsie ” the most exquisite child that lives in English words. And when speaking of middle-age, of its peculiar tranquilitv aud humor, why not tell of its peculiar beauty as well ? Men and women make their own beauty or their own ugliness. Hir Edward Bnl WOr LyHnn opociko ixi one of his novels of a man “ who was uglier than he had any business to be ;” and, if he could but read it, every hu man being carries his life in his face, and is good looking or the reverse as that life has been goo lor evil. On our feature the flue chisels of thought and emotion are eternally at work, Beauty is not the monopoly of blooming young men and of white and pink maids. There is a slow-growing .beauty which only comes to perfection in old age. Grace belongs to no period of life, and goodness improves the longer it exists. I have seen sweeter smiles on a lip of seventy than I ever saw on a lip of seventeen. There is beauty of youth, aud there is also the beauty of holiness —a beauty much more seldom met; and more frequently found in tlie arm-chair by the fire, with grandchildren around its knee, than in the ball-room or the promenade. Husband and wife who have fought the world side by side, who have made common stock of joy aud sorrow, and aged together, are not unfre queutly found curiously alike iu person al appearance aud in pitch and tone of voice—just as twin pebbles on the beach, exposed to the same tidal influ ences, are each other’s alter ego. He has gained a feminine something whicl* brings his manhood into full relief. A/ic has gained a masculine something which acts as a foil to her womanhood. Beautiful are they in life, these pale winter roses, and in death they will not be divided. When death comes, lie will pluck not one but both. And in any case, to the old man, when tho world becomes trite, the triteness .arises not so much from a cessation as from a transference of interest. What is taken from this world is given to the next. The glory is in the east in the morning, it is in tlie west in the after noon, and when it is dark the splendor is irradiating the realm of the under world. He would only follow.—Alex ander Smith. Habits of the Fur Seal. The fur seal never sprawls out and flamidors ralxen i .->/! „„ might be supposed from observing the progression of the common hair seal; on the coutrary, this animal carries its body clear and free from the ground, with head and neck erect, stepping for ward with its fore-feet, and bringing the hinder ones up to fresh position after every second step forward. When ex erting itself it can spring into a lum bering, shambling gallop, and for a few rods run as fast as a man, but will sink quickly to the earth, graspmg, panting, and palpitating. In the water all move ments when swimming aro quick and swift, the fore-flippers propelling, and the long, attenuated hinder ones serv ing to guide the course. The animal always in traveling swims under water, ever and anon rising, with head and neck clear from the sea, to snort and survey the field. The seals will fre quently, when iu play or suddenly startled, leap from the water like so many dolphins. The young seals are exceedingly frol icsome at sea (as also a great pari of the time on land) ; running acrobatic races in the surf, chasing one another, and whirling in swift circles, they seem to be brimful of warm, joyous life. They also delight, especially the old ones, in lazily turning over and over in the swell, scratching and rubbing therm selves with their flippers, exposing as tliey float in the water but a small por tion of their bodies ; they also sleep upon the surface iu the same short, un easy slumber so characteristic of them when on land. There is nothing dull or lethargic about the fur seal when asleep or awake. A healthy seal is never seen sleeping without an involun tary nervous muscular . twitching and flinching of various portions of its boly, usually an uneasy folding out and* back of its flippers, with quick crawling movements of its skin, the eyes being, however, always tightly closed. Arising from these great bands of herding seals is a peculiar dull, vibrat ing roar, the joint effort of hundreds of thousands of vigilant and angry males, together-with the calls of their harems, a din which never ceases for an instant, day or night, during tho six or eight weeks of the breeding season : it can be heard at sea miles away, and fre quently has warned vessels of danger ous pr iximity of land when searching for the islands in thick, foggy weather. There also comes with this sound a most disagreeable smell. Tne seals themselves do not emit this odor, al though they have sweetish, oily breath, but they are constantly stirring up the decaying bodies of the dead, on and over which they sleep or incessantly flounder. —Harper's Magazine. Temperance in Russia. In some parts of Russia a strong tem perance movement is now on foot. In the month of January last forty-eight village communities in the district of Molniew adopted stringent regulations in regard to taverns or drinking saloons. Bv these enactments, it was made an offense to buy or sell liquor on credit or in exchange for other articles, or to loiter in a drinking saloon. In the district of Pensa, some two hundred villages have resolved that no inns or drinking saloons shall be erected on nnv soil belonging to the peasants. In consequence of these regulations many saloon keepers have been prosecuted and sentenced to undergo punishment. X/ife is like a theater, for the worst often occupy the best place in it, M. Aurelius. Iji God 7/ c 27'usl. PARIS IN 1793. A Vivid Sketch oi the City from Victor Hugo’s Last Novel, Very few of the largest shops were open. Peripatetic haberdasherv and toy-shops were dragged about by wo men, lighted by candles, which dropped their tallow on the merchandise. Open air shops were kept by ex-nuns in blonde wigs. The mender, darning stockings in a stall, <vas a countess ; that dress-maker a marchioness. Ma dame de Boufllers inhabited a garret, from which she could look out at her own hotel. Hawkers ran about offer ing the “papers of news.” Persons who wore cravats that hid their chins were called “the scrofulous.” Street sinoroT-a XUe CPorrA Boot-pd Pitou, the royalist song writer, and a valiant man in the bargain. They danced the carmagnole ip great circles. They no longer said jgentleman and lady, but citizen and cicizeness. They danced in tne ruined cloisters with the church lamps lighted on the altars, with cross-shaped chandeliers hanging from the vaulted roofs aud tombs be neath their feet. Blu6“blue tyrant’s waist-coats” were worn. There were liberty-cap shirt pins, made of white, blue aud red stones. The Rue de Rich elieu was called the street of law ; the Faubourg of Glory ; a statue of Nature stood iu the Place de lh Bastile. At the Invalides the statues of the saints and kiugs were crowned With Phrygian caps. They played cards on the curb stones at the crossings. The packs of cards were also in the full tide of revo lution ; tho kings were replaced by genii, tlie queens by the goddess of liberty, the knaves by figures represent ing equity, and the aces by impersona tions of law. They tilled the public gardens ; the plow worked at tho Tuil- eries. With all these excesses was mingled, especially amo g the con quered parties, an indescribable haugh ty weariness of life. A man wrote to Fouquier Finvi'le, “Have the goodness to free me from exist ence. This is my address.” Newspa pers appeared in legions. The hair dresser’s men curled the wigs of women in public, while the master read the Mouiteur aloud. People went to have their fortunes told by Martin, at No. 173 in the Rue d’Anjou. There was a lack of bread, of coals, of soap. Flocks of milch cows might be seen coming in from the country. At the Yallee lamb sold at fifteen francs per pound. An order of the Commune assigned a pound of meat per head every ten days. Peo ple stood in rank at the doors of the butchers’ shops. One of these files had remained famous; it reached from a grocer’s shop in the Rue des Petit Ca ncan to the middle of the Rue Montor gueli. To form a line was called “hold ing the cord,” from a v long rope which Was held in the bands of tkooa ;He women were brave and mild. They passed entire nights awaiting their turn to get into the bakers’ shops. Wood cost four hundred francs in coin per cord; people could be seen in the streets sawing up their bedsteads. In the winter the fountains were frozen; two pails of water cost twenty sous ; every man made himself a water carrier. A golden louis was worth 3,990 (paper) francs. A course in a hackney coach cost 600 francs. After a day’s use of a carriage, this sort of dialogue might be heard: “Coachman, how much do I owe you?” “ Six thousand francs.” A green grocer woman sold 20,000 francs’ worth of vegetables a day. A beggar said : “ Help me in the name of charity! It took 230 francs to finish paying for my shoes.” There was no flattering among this people. There was the som bre j 'y of having made an end of thrones. Volunteers abounded; each street furnished a battalion. Statistics of Intemperance. The testimony of competent judges is decided in the opinion that the use of ardent spirits is hurtful to health and long life, and the old-fashioned calcula tions of Neison, in his vital statistics, are confirmed by the researches of the general life-office. According to these estimates, the probability of death among drinkers between twenty one and Rrty-five years is ten times as much as among the whole population ; between forty-one and sixty years, four times as much; and among habitual tiplers over sixty years of age, twice as much as among the people at large. In Eng land, 1850-59, more than 8,000 cases were reported of men who had literally drank themselves to death. Neison has given us his investigation of 7111 tip plers,* that out of 1000 58.4 die an nually, while out of 1000 inhabitants of the same age only nineteen die. Thus the mortality among drinkers is three times as great as in the community at large. He has- carried out his calcula tions into all ages, and shown how this chronic self murder marvelously dimin ishes the expectation of life. The highest point as to numbers is found in the years 1851 60, which report 192 men and 44 women intemperate out of 10,- 000, in England and Wales, and which reckon the diminution in the rate of ex pectation of life accordingly. This last statement is most startling, and shows a falling off* in the probable term of life for each ten years, from twenty to sixty and upward, of respectively twenty-eight, twenty-two, seventeen, ten and five y*ars, with fractions, and amounting to the fearful percentage, respectively, of’thirty-five, thirty-eight, forty, fiftv-oue, and sixty-three per cent, of probable life, as compared with the population. Surely strong drink is slow fire, and intemperance if volun tary maclness and chronic suicide.— Harper's Magazine. Figures for Crusaders. The distillers of the country, for the last fiscal year, produced over 68,000,000 gallons of spirits. There were 445 of them, in which about 870,000,000 cap ital is invested, 70,000 men employed, and nearly 20,000,000 bushels of grain consumed, four-fifths being corn. The spirits produced yielded nearly 850,000,- 00 of taxes to the treasury. Illinois is tho chief producer and the western states distilled more than five-sevenths of all the spirits made. A letter from California says, this year, there will be produced there 12,000,000 gallons of wine, 2,000,000 pounds of grapes for table use, and 250,000 pounds of raisins, besides the brandy, of which wo have no statistics ; 40,000 acres are in vine yards, and the area is constantlv increas ing. “ Don’t, Charley.” “ Don’t, Charley,” came to my oars in a sweet, musical tone, while I was seated in a railway car, last sum mer. I should not have heard the soft, touching voioe, had it not been very near me. I looked to see who it was that had spoken, and saw a sweet, beautiful woman upon the seat in front of me. A half-sad look rested upon the young face that was all aglow with love and tenderness. A young man was seated by her side whose face wore a restless, dissipated look, and in a mo ment T oomiireherrded it all. His face was flushed slightly, and I kuew why it was thus. He was talking very fast to someone in advance of him* and once I heard a low oath. “Don’t, Charley,” sh 9 said again, in the same sweet voice. But Charley did not seem to heed the words, but -went on iu a half wild way to the man. Several more oaths came from his lips ; but the woman remained silent, yet looking so pleadingly at the erring one that I thought, if he had been half human, he would have heeded the mild, loving re proof that was so visible in her tear dimmed eyes. A friend by my side whispered in my ear. “ They have been married just one year.” “ He is a brute,” I only said in reply. At that moment I saw the young hus biud wink slyly to the man, and then they both arose and went into the bag gage-car. I under, tood the movement when I saw a bottle protruding from the husband’s coat pocket. “Don’t Charley; don’t go,” the young wife had pleaded before he got beyond her reach; but he tore himself from her light grasp, and rushed along. Her eyes filled with tears, and a low moan came from her pale lips, and then she bowed her head and wept silently. He came back in a few moments, his face flashed still more, and his voice a key or two louder than before. He brushed rudely past the wife, evidently to get near the car window. “ Let me alone, Mag,” lie said as she laid her white hand upon his arm. “Women are always in the way,” he said, again turning to the man iii front of him. The wife turned away, and I did not hear her sweet, reproving voice again. How I pitied that young, loving wife, and how often I wonder if her sensitive heart must suffer and bleed for many long years ! I think not; for her ten der, loving soul, and frail, slender body will not bear such unkindness. Strange lioav soon liquor will transform human beings into unfeeling monsters, and chill tha ardent, loving nature of l nolren/1 nrul fvm.fln/v The Drunkard’s Cure. Some months ago a gentleman adver tised that he had discovered a sure specific for the cure of drunkenness. He would not divulge the secret of what compounds he used, but furnished the medicidfc at so much per bottle. He did not have so many applicants for his cure as he expected, considering the ex tent of the disease. In fact, the more malignant cases did not seem anxious for relief ; they rather appeal uo. re cu joy the malady. A few, however, plac ed themselves under treatment, and some were cured—whether by taking tlie medicine, or taking strong drinks, is not stated. One of the cured ones had faith in the medicine, rigidly carried out the directions of the doctor, and now has not the least taste for in toxicating drinks; whereas one year ago he was an inebriate, and could not get along with less than a pint to a quart of whisky per day. He said that, at some trouble and expense, he had procured the recipe for the preparation of the medicine, which he had publish ed for the benefit of suffering humani ty. It is as follows : Sulphate of iron, five grains ; peppermint water, eleven drachms ; spirit of nutmeg, one drachm. Twice a day. This preparation acts as a tonic and stimulant, and so partially supplies 'the place of the accustomed liquor,Jand prevents that absolute phys ical and moral prostration that [follows a sudden breaking off from the use of stimulating drinks. It is to be taken in quantities equal to an ordinary dram, and as often as the desire for a dram returns. “ Translated ” Wine. An ingenious fraud, by which wine costing about twelve shillings a dozen in France was “translated” so as to sell for two guineas a dozen in England, was exposed recently in one of the London police courts. The prosecution was in stituted by several well-known cham pagne manufacturers, including Roeder er and Moet & Chandon, and the evi dence they brought forward went to show that the prisoner or his accompli ces were accustomed to buy champagne of the poorest quality in France and ship it to London; there the corks were drawn, aud replaced by others branded so as to resemble genuine ©nes, the originallabels were removed, and forged labels were pasted on the bottles, and a transformation was thus effected which would deceive even experienced buyers. The bottles could not be told externally from those containing high-priced cham pagne, the imitation of one of Moet <fc Ohandon’s brands being especially clev er. The justice, indeed, considered the fraud so dangerously ingenious that the prisoner was sentenced to hard labor for the term of twelve months. This ex pose should teach people the folly of buying well-known brands of wine for much less than the ruling price. Thackeray used to say that a man might as well talk of getting sovereigns for ten shillings as to say he could pet gen uine wines at half the market rates. —The time is approching when the feminine dweller in the suburbs will say to her little girl : “ Susan, go in and ask Mis. Smith if she won’t keep a few of those hens at home. I’ve just planted my seeds and I can’t have all those fowls here at once.” —Cobbett’s wife caught him by the grace with which she used her wash tub. She never was known to use it after the wedding. Payable in Advance. NUMBER 14 INSANITY. Statistics Show an Increase In the Kuui her of Insane .Pei sons. The great master of statistics, Quote let, considers insanity under the univer sal point of view of the “ Development of the Moral and Spiritual Faculties of Man ; yet there seems to be an impor tant distinction te be made between the vicious perversion of the mind and heart and merely physical disease of the brain. Moral statistics have mostly to deal with the moral and mental aspects of insanity, and with the influ ence of perverse habits in bringing on the bodily disease. It is aard to draw the line between the moral and physi cal factors of insanity, although there is a line of division between them ; and in soma eases tho dieoaoe ia wholly physical, the result of inheritance, cli mate, or acute sickness, and in other cases it springs from pride, sensuality, debauchery, and habitual vices, and has a previous history, a preparatory im morality, which ends in what is called “moral insanity.” The general opinion is that insanity is on the increase in modern civilization, and is multiplying that saddest form of death, the ruin of the intellect ; but it is not easy to give positive facts to sus tain that view. It is not just to base our estimate upon the increase of resi dents in insane hospitals, since the in crease may only prove that better care is now taken of the insane, and the pre judice against those institutions has been dying away. Yet wherever obser vations have been made, tho increase in the number of the insane has been re ported as so constant, and under all cir cumstances as in such regular propor tion, that we cannot help believing that this evil grows among us as decidedly as suicide. The proportion of the in crease in the different kinds of insanity, and the closer investigation of its dis tribution in city and country, as well as in the different civil and professional classes, leave no doubt that the peculiar ways and moral mischiefs of our mod ern civilization favor the progress of this calamity. Without being able to declare the absolute correctness of the figures, we may ascribe out of the 300,- 000 insane of Europe (including idiots) the greatest relative number, two per thousand, to the most highly civilized nation, the German ; while tho Rou manians hold the middle grouud, near ly one per thousand, and Sclavic Tar tars tho lowest place, 0.6, or six-tenths of one, per thousand. It is much the same with insanity as with suicide, and it prevails, like suicide, more in the north and northwest of Europe than in the less civilized southern and south eastern parts. In all the more civilized countries, too, there is more increase of insanity than of idiocy; and it is the same in cities as compared with the rwnnrry, ior tu stir ana passion OI overwrought civllizatiun tend LUUIC to distract the brain into madness than to dull it into idiocy. Among different callings the profes sions that are called liberal are most in clined to delusion and melancholy. While these -constitute only about a twentieth of the whole population, or 5.04 per cent., they number among the melancholy 12.90, aud among the de lirious 9.41 per cent. In general, mel ancholy and mania prevail more among women, idiocy and delusion more among In respect to ex VIA ■ f n . I married, widows, and, above all, divor ced persons, give a larger proportion of insane than the married. Although children, who are little, if any, exposed to insanity, are reckoned in percen tage of the unmarried—sixty-two to sixty-four per cent.—yet throughout Germany the proportion of celibates among the insane is much more unfavor able—about seventy per cent.—and in Bavaria as much as eighty-one per cent. Divorced women are especially liable to delusion and mania. Thus, while in Saxony the divorced constitute only O.IG per cent., or sixteen-hundreths of oae per cent., or three-tenths of one per cent., among women, they give to the insane asylums in the relation of 1.21 and 3.04 per cent. ; thus in mania the proportion of divorced women rises as high as G. 02 percent., and in the cat egory of individual delusion as high as five per cent. — Harper's Magazine. A Committee of the Whole Against Death. We need to set' our faces against all the mischiefs that sicken and destroy our race, and to rally all friends of civilization into a grand committee of the whole against disease, corruption, and death. Especially we should guard the germs of life, and discern what Plato said in his “laws” so many centu ries ago, that life begins before birth, and the mother is the cradle of the un born child. The mother should be, as such a sacred person, and her offspring protected by all skill and while all the diabolical arts of abortion and fet icide should be made infamous and criminal. The fearful habit of looking upon maternity as a of girlish beauty, and as a bitter pledge to care, should be put down, and we should kave no toleration for the new race of monks and nuns who would be childless without chastity, and be virtually, but not virtuously, celibates in the service of vanity and self-inulgence, not of de votion and self-sacrifice. Our whole method of amusements, especially for the vonng, should be* re formed. Gas-light should yield to day light, night vapors in heated and close rooms should give way to fresh air un der the open heavens, and our young people should be brought up to work and play under the ministry of that great solar force which is the most be nign and godlike agent known to men. Ardent spirits and tobacco should be given up, and in their stead genial ex ercise of riding, gymnastics, and the dance, with music and beautiful arts, should be employed to sti the languid powers and soothe the troubled affec tions. The old Greeks taught music and gymnastics as parts of education, and Plato, in urging the importance of these, still maintains that the soul is superior ti> the body, and religion is the crown of all true cult re. Why may not Christian people take as broad a po sition on highe? ground, and with a gen erous and genial culture associate a faith that is no dreamy sentiment or ideal abstraction, but the best power of man and the supreme grace of God ? EASTMAN TIMES. RATES OF ADVERTISING: space. 1 in. 3 m. 0 m. 12 m. Otic square f4 00 ( 7 00 (10 00 $ 15 00 Two squares o*s 12 00 18 00 25 00 Foursquare* 975 19*0 28 00 *9 00 One-fourth col 11 50 22 50i *.84 00 46 00 One-half col 20 00 82 60 55 00 80 00 One column 85 00 BO 00, SO OQ ISOM Advertisements inserted at the rate of fljo per square for the first insertion, aud 75 cents for eaoh subsequent one. Ten lines or less constitute a square. Professional cards, (15.00 annum; for b!k months, (10.00, in advance. FACTS AND FANCIES. —A dish for a lawyer—Suet. —A good floor-manager—A broom. —The gait of a fast ago—lnvestigate. —Moonlight is merely the beautiful old age of day. —Art may be learned, but can’t be taught.— R. A. Leslie. —To love is to bo useful to yourself; to cause love is to be useful to others. — Berangcr. —Old minds are like old horses; you must exercise them if you wish to keep them in working order.— John Adams. —What is the difference between a farmer and a bottle of whisky? One husbands the corn and tho other corns the linebout). —ln life it is difficult t > say who do you the most mischief, —enemies with the worst intentions, or friends with the best.— Buhoer. —Graoe is a modest girl and refuses to wear low dresses. “Mamma,” she remarks to her maternal, “that is more than I can bare.” - A - A question of precedence is troubling Cincinnati. The trouble is, whether an alderman’s wife ranks higher than the wife of the county recorder. —Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of tliy mind; for tho soul is dyed by tho thoughts. —Marcus Aurelius. —What’s the difference between the side of a right-angle triangle and an old maid’s teapot ? One is a hypotlie nuse, the other a tea-pot-in-use, —Are blacksmiths, who make a living by forging, or carpenters, who do a lit tle counter-fitting, any worse thau men who sell iron and steel for a living ? —Almost every one will bo surprised to learn that SI,OOO, were collected at the Washington monument last year. It pays the salary of the association’s treasurer. —The Golden Globe of Colorado has suspended on account of the disappear ance of the editor. He was last seen standing under a tree, and some men pulling on a rope. —Fools that they are, they know not how nmch the half is better than tho whole, nor how great pleasure there is in wholesome herbs—tho mallow and the asphodel.— llesiodus. —Tongatabo, in the Sandwich Is lands, has been cultivating a yam twelve years, and now it is ripe and weighs a ton. A clear case of vegeta ble inflation. Yam ! Yam ! —“ Did you execute this instrument without fear or compulsion from your husband?’ blandly asked the judge. “Fear! Compulsion ! He compel me! You don’t know me, judge.” An ov/V.cvfc man dreamed recently that his aunt was dead. Tho dream juoved true. Jlo tried the same dream on his mother-in law, but it didn’t work. —I have often wondered how every man loves himself mere than all the rest of men, yet sets less value on his own opinion of himself than on the opinion of others.— Apollodorus. —How sweet is the prayer of the vir gin heart to its love ! Thy virtues vr r \ me. With virtue preserve me ! thou love me? Keep me, then still worthy to be loved I— Sir 1\ Sidney. afafip■. tears and laugh born. Liko two children sleeping in one cradle, when one stirs and wakes, the other wakes also.— Bccchcr. —“Well, Bridget, if I engage you, I shall want you to stay at home whenev er I shall wish to go out.” “Well,ma’am, I have no objections, providing you do the same when I wish to go out.” —Life is made up, not of great sacri fices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindness and small obligations given habitually are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort. — Sir M. Davy. —lt makes ns proud when our love of a mistress is returned ; it ought to make us prouder still when we can love her for herself alone, without the aid of any such selfish reflection. This is the religion of love. — llazlitt. —A model husband from the land of fiction. “He admired his wife so much that he used to light the candle three times every night to look at her; and he became a very celebrated bankrupt two or three times.” —A warngling couple were discussing the subject of epitaphs and tomb-stones, and the husband said : “My dear, what kind of a stone do you suppose they will give me, when I die?” “ Brimstone, my love,” was the affectionate reply. —A Delaware man has been taking cod-liver oil for four years to cure the consumption, and has just found out that he never had any consumption. lie is the maddest man in America, and his children haven’t said “boo” in a week. —A cockney tourist met with a Scotch lassie going barefoot toward Glasgow. “Lassie,” said he, “I should like to know if all the people in this part go barefooted.” “ Part of ’em do, and the rest of ’em mind their ow r n business,” was the reply. —“That dog of yourn flew at me this morning and bit me on the leg, and I notify you that I intend to shoot it the first time I see it.” “The dog is not mad.” “ Mad ! I know he’s not mad. What has he got to be mad about ? It’s me that’s mad.” —So then the year is repeating its old story again. We are come once more, thank God, to its most charming chapter. The violets and the May-flowers are as its inscriptions or vignettes. It always makes a pleasant impression on us, when we open again at these pages of the book of life.— Goethe. —Little girl—“ Mamma, I don’t think the people who make dolls are very pi ous people.” Mamma —“Why not, my child ?” Little girl—“ Because you can never make them kneel. I always have to lay my doll down on her stom ach to say her prayers. ” —Good talkers are becoming rare nowadays, but are occasionally to be met with. Of one whose conversation is very entertaining but rather disconnected, a witty lady once remarked, “Oh,yes, lie’s very clever, but he talkls like a book in which there are leaves occasionally missing.”